I stayed at the S.O.E. farmhouse for two days, completing the two-day de-briefing with Ivanhoe listening, and a young girl writing shorthand. After that I waited at home, no work to go to, nothing but catch up on the news of the country.
Although the newspapers gave little beef to the news, I had months of experience of reading between the lines. It seems the men and women from Avenging Steel had indeed made a difference in Scotland; amongst other attacks Rosyth Naval base had been raided and three ships damaged by magnetic mines.
Two days after the rid, fifteen men had been put against a wall and shot; some would have been innocent, others probably not. I’m quite certain that Avenging Steel considered it a worthwhile sacrifice.
Aircraft had also been sabotaged, RAF Turnhouse was now defended by triple the force six months ago, and that was the point. I could read through the German slant, I’d done the job myself for a year or so… I knew how to skew a story
Although I felt a little proud of the group, knowing my newsletter had started the whole thing, there was of course, a certain sadness at the retaliations from Jerry. But when all was considered, the raiding by the Avenging Steel group had one main aim that we all shared; if we could get the Germans to devote more troops to perform the ‘occupation’, then less would be available for front-line duties to fight our boys. The logic was a bit of a stretch, but at least we were doing our bit, albeit indirectly, for the war effort.
And the news was great for morale.
Ten days after I returned to Edinburgh, the doorbell rang. Mum was in the kitchen, so I answered it. A small man stood outside. “I have a message from Ivanhoe.” He whispered. “Meet him at the farm today, at two o’clock.” He walked away without a backward glance, the patter of his shoes slipping on the steps, and echoing in the large stairwell. Compared to Ivanhoe’s previous henchman, my old friend Balfour, he hardly looked threatening. Maybe that was the point. As he disappeared downstairs, I wondered how menacing I looked.
I glanced at my watch as I closed the door; eleven fifteen. I had plenty of time.
I knew from my briefing that the ‘farm’ was a good twenty minute walk from the last tram stop at Gilmerton, and I timed it with ten minutes grace. At nine minutes to two, I walked into the muddy courtyard. I was met by a young woman, drying her hands with a dirty dishtowel. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m here on an appointment.”
“Oh,” she looked at me, studying my face. “Who are you here to see?”
“I don’t want to use his name.”
Suddenly her eyes twinkled with a mischievous grin. “That’s okay, James. We don’t stand on ceremony here. We’ve been expecting you, come on inside.” She waved me towards the door, and I followed.
Inside the dark scullery, she stopped me and tapped me down. “He’s clean,” she announced. I followed her into an equally dimly lit living room. Ivanhoe sat with the thin man from the stairs and a stranger. “Sit down, James,” The girl left quickly.
Ivanhoe indicated an empty armchair, and I reclined, folding my legs, relaxing. “Who am I talking to?”
He indicated the thin man. “This is Sidney, and this,” he pointed to the stranger, “is a ‘high-up’; that’s all you’re being told at this time.”
I nodded. “Okay. What’s it all about?”
The ‘high-up’ took over immediately. “Could we have the room, gentlemen?” the ‘high-up’ asked, looking at Ivanhoe and Sidney. Only when they’d left the room and closed the door did he continue. “Echelon was impressed by your exploits, Mister Baird, especially the raid on Sicily.” The man had a false, almost woman-like voice, that hardly transferred over the room to me. “How exactly did you get caught up in that again?”
So I went through the whole tale of my berth on H.M.N.Z.S. Otago, the Stuka attack, and the raiding party being short of men. When I started to describe the actual runways, he interrupted me, asking for more and more detail. How thick the ramp metal was, what angle did the ramp incline to, how big the rockets were, markings, shape, what the grease smelled like, he was looking for far much more than I could actually tell him. “Remember, it was pretty-well all done in the dark.”
“Yes, I know, but we’ve got to go through it until your memory is well and truly picked; it’s important. Very important.”
So we did the dance again, and admittedly his probing questions did bring out more information, not much, but he seemed pleased with the interview. “You might not know this, but the rest of the raiding party of Operation Gilded Cage were killed or captured. At this time, we believe that you, dear friend, are the only person in our organization who has come close to seeing the rocket. All we know is its name; the V-1; the ‘V’ standing for ‘Victory’ weapon.”
Wow, that brought me firmly down to earth. I knew immediately if I was the only one to have seen it, I was important. “How can I help?”
“Good show,” he smiled for the first time. “Glad you’re putting yourself out. You see, Echelon is organizing an expedition to go take a closer look at these V-1’s at their source. You’re pretty-much in the hot seat, and we hoped you’d volunteer.”
“Consider my application in your in-tray.” I grinned back. “When do I go? And where are we going?”
The grin fell from his face in record time. “Ah, that’s where we have the bad news. The operation has been planned for many months. Your arrival is just in time to join. If you’re aboard, you’ll have to leave on Friday to join up with the rest of the party.”
“Friday?” I was eager to go, yes, eager to do my part. But I’d just got back, my family needed me… my wife and child needed me. “This Friday?” He nodded, but to be honest, I already knew the answer. “That’s four days away.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And if I say no?”
He drew a deep breath. “Then our chances of success diminish greatly.”
And that would mean that people die. I thought of all the time I’d already missed. “Okay, count me in. Where do I report?”
“London train, old boy. Friday 12.01pm. Don’t take luggage, you won’t need it. Pay the fare to London, but get off at Berwick. Book into the Castle Hotel. I’ll get you picked up from there.”
I nodded. “Seems simple enough.” But I knew only too well what wouldn’t be ‘simple’; my telling of the news to my poor with-child wife.
I took her out for dinner, getting a neutral ground to drop my bombshell news. But as I ordered a bottle of far-too-expensive wine, she stopped me. “Don’t.” she said. “Don’t sugar-coat it; just tell me you’re going away again, and that you’ll be back soon.”
I almost leapt across the table and hugged her. “How do I deserve a wife like you?”
“I’m in it, James.” She gave me a forced smile. “I’m in the loop as far as clandestine operations are concerned.” She patted her stomach. “If it weren’t for baby here, maybe it’d be me telling you bad news.”
“Maybe,” But I couldn’t help but want to re-assure her I was now out of her league. Instead I gave her a smile, held her hand over the table, and looked at the menu. “It’s been a while since I had honest Edinburgh grub.”
“Don’t tell your mum that.” Alice teased.
“No, but, you know. Good dining food, but Scottish; something I understand when it arrives on my plate, something not needing an introduction, explanation or a cautious examination.”
The smile left her, and she looked a little sad. “You did go through a lot, didn’t you?”
“One day I’ll be able to tell you. You and our son, daughter, whatever.”
“Danny,” she almost blushed.
“Danny?”
“Well, I couldn’t call it ‘the lump’, could I?” she gave me the first true honest smile of the evening. “Daniel for a boy, Dannielle for a girl. Danny for an unambiguous shortened version.”
“That makes sense.”
And I ordered beefsteak, gravy, peas and mashed tatties. Yes, I was that homesick.
Friday came round far too quickly and, despite her reticence, Alice saw me off at the station, just like she’d done six months before. “I’ll be back soon, pet.” I hugged her, kissed her, and as the conductor walked the train, closing doors, I got on, leaned out the window and waved.
“Be back for the birth!” she called to me as the engine took the strain, jostling the carriages taught.
“I will!” I replied full of enthusiasm, but little real resolve. I knew I was probably going into Europe again, and that meant it wouldn’t be over in a single weekend.
I watched the town disappear, and the coastal scenes take its place. Less than an hour later, I stepped onto the platform at Berwick. I looked around me for other similarly minded individuals, but saw none that fit the bill, just couples, soldiers, and old men.
The Castle Hotel was visible from the platform; a stone building with a fake Tudor frontage. Considering it was Friday lunchtime, I was surprised there were no German uniforms in the place. I sat at the bar, ordered a plate of the recommended vegetable broth, and settled myself onto my barstool with a pint of Belhaven.
I’d finished three pints and gone through two newspapers before anyone made contact.
“James?” a man tapped my arm.
“Yes,” In the absence of anything better to say, I kept my reply ambiguous.
“Good grief, man. I’ve not seen you in years.” A stranger to me, he smiled openly and we shook hands. I couldn’t place his accent immediately, it seemed to be all over the place. “I’ve got seats, over there in the corner.” He indicated an empty booth. “What’s your poison?”
“Eh, Belhaven, please.”
“Go ahead, I’ll join you in a second.”
I walked to the booth, and sat down, ready for flight, but allowing the scene to play out. The man soon arrived with two pints. “Hello, old chap.” He sat opposite. “Ralph’s the name. I’m here to take you to the harbour.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve got time, the boat doesn’t leave for an hour or so.” His accent had now settled into a straight English, midlands, maybe further south.
I inwardly cringed, thinking of my journey six months earlier, a boat, then submarine, then merchant ship. “I’m not going on a submarine, am I?”
Ralph laughed. “No, old chap, you’ll be on the surface all the way.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness for that,” I looked around. “There’s no Jerry here at all, nothing. What’s up?”
Ralph grinned. “Oh, we kinda crashed into a convoy up the road a bit. The local Greys will have their work cut out for a while.”
“Greys?”
“Jerry, you know, the uniform?”
“Ah,” I got it.
Down in the harbour, ‘the boat’, my transport, was a battered looking yellow and blue trawler, sitting alongside another three similarly sized boats. Ralph deposited me with the Captain, and walked away. “Are you not coming?” I called as he reached the wharf.
“Nope, not this time. You’re on your own, dear boy.”
“Can’t you at least tell me where I’m going?”
He shook his head. “Sorry old bean, you’ll have to work it out on your own.”
With a loud roar of Cast Off! the skipper revved the idling engines, and hands immediately got to work on the mooring ropes. Ten minutes later, I was chugging past the high castle walls, wondering when I’d ever set foot in Scotland again.